


Paper Thin

by itwilleatyourbabies



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: AU- drag's not a thing, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bullying, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Homosexual slurs, M/M, Multi, Self Harm, Suicide Attempts, no one dies tho, not romantic- more mother/daughter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-02
Updated: 2016-07-02
Packaged: 2018-07-11 18:00:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7064119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itwilleatyourbabies/pseuds/itwilleatyourbabies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Danny was hoping that the afterlife would be more like an after party.<br/>Or, the one where Danny's just a 16 year old kid who attempts suicide and Roy is the therapist who helps him through the failed attempt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. White (Pills)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first work in the fandom, so they're is a small about me in the notes at the end, read it if you like, for now, however, there's just a few things I would like you to know about this story.  
> It is entirely unedited, I def. wrote this for stress relief, so it's not good.  
> I can write better I SWEAR  
> this will have 4 parts, they are not all written, but they are all planned out :)  
> I will try to post every wed.  
> There's no romance unless y'all really want there to be, because I can make that happen if you want it.  
> SOME OF THE STUFF THAT WILL BE IN THIS STORY IS GRAPHIC AF, please please, please, don't put yourself in danger for me.  
> I live for comments so if you do that I'll die thank.  
> And I'll be posting this on artificialqueens.tumblr.com under the name "panic" don't worry, it's still me.  
> Please enjoy!

Danny was so, so, so, done. In a sense, he didn’t want to be, but he was. Because it was all too hard. Going to school everyday was too hard. It was too hard to hide his tears in the bathrooms and it was to hard to pass his classes and it was too hard to not let the bullies get to him.  
And it was too hard at home. His dad was horrible. He drank and drank and drank, and then he yelled and yelled and yelled. And it made Danny feel worse and worse and worse.  


Every day was the same routine. Try to eat breakfast and fail miserably. Try to pay attention in school and fail miserably, cry in the bathroom and try to cover it up, and fail miserably. Try to do his homework, fail miserably, try not to harm himself, and fail miserably at that too.  


November 20th didn’t start out any differently. When his mom called him down to dinner that night he pulled down his sleeves over the angry red marks that inhabited his wrists, blotted the tears from his eyes one last time, and made his way down the stairs. Once he had arrived, a fairly regular scene layout in front of him. His mother, Bonny, throwing on her jacket- running out to her midnight shift job, her third job, because his father was a deadbeat who couldn’t work one, leaving his mom to care for all three of them. His father had already thrown back at least two beers since Danny had gotten home, and had his third one half drank in his hand.  
The room was dead silent except for the scraping of forks on plates and swallowing until they heard the dull sound of a shut door and a lock. Now, Danny’s father was free, but Danny was more imprisoned than ever.  


“Look faggot,” Danny didn’t care, or at least, he pretended well enough not too, it wasn’t the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last, and so he let his dad finish, “Yoou’re em-bar-ass-ing me.” His words slurred together and were emphasized in the wrong place, leaving Danny to wonder if this really was his third beer- or his third case of beer.  


Danny sat through this for thirty minutes. The “yoou’re DEAD ta me, ya kno dat?” The “I wish’t I’da paid for the abortion.” The “Yoou’ve probably fucked more dick than your whore mother.”  


By the time his dad had hit beer number ??, Danny knew he was safe to slip away. He slithered up to his bedroom, being careful not to slam the door, knowing that it would upset him further and spook him out of whatever alcohol induced daydream was keeping Danny safe. All was silent until once again, Danny heard the dull noise of a door close and look- symbolizing that once again, he was imprisoned deeper and deeper, although not by the monster that was his father, but by the monster that was himself.  
Without restraint, he threw himself onto the floor him the bathroom, left arm steadying him against the toilet bowl, while his right hand fingers reached down his throat.  
And he vomited again. And again. And again. He used to think that only people sick in the stomach would vomit. But now he realized that those sick in the head vomited just as much.  
“If I’m pretty, they’ll love me.” He whispers to himself. “If I’m pretty, they’ll love me.” That was the problem- he was ugly, he was disgusting . He was the broken shell of a boy who had never been pretty enough. Not pretty enough to be a teacher’s pet, not pretty enough to play catch with his dad, not pretty enough to picked first for dodgeball- but  
“If I’m pretty, they’ll love me.”  
It turns from a whisper to a low cry,  
“If I’m pretty, they’ll love me.”  
The words are getting caught in his throat,  
“If I’m pretty, they’ll love me.”  
They ball themselves up and choke him.  
“If I’m pretty, they’ll love me.”  


And suddenly, he’s crying, horrible, gut wrenching cries coming from too many nights bent over a toilet, from too many broken disposable razors, legs numb from sitting on them for so long, forehead cold from the cool porcelain of the toilet seat, mouth still tasting like his bile, and in this moment, he is more broken than he has ever been before.  


Lifting his head, letting his tears drip down his nose, he chokes out “please just love me.” And he’s done, oh god is he done.  
He lies there for feels like an eternity, shaking and sobbing on the floor of his bathroom, fingernails digging into his wrist and praying to something, that someday, someone will love him. When he finally stands up, he has no idea what he needs to do, he has no idea what he should do. But he knows what he wants to do- and although it’s not the “best option” to some, it’s the best option to him.  


He stumbles to the desk in his bedroom, and for a while, he considers writing this letter to himself, because that’s the only person who’s going to care what this says, the only person who is going to read it, the only person who is going to give a single fuck about any of this. At first, he thinks he might not write the letter at all, but at times like this, it’s better safe than it is sorry.  
If he’s honest, he doesn’t know what to write. He thought that his soul would pour out of him, but he’s threw up his soul, bled out his soul, and broken it to the point where it no longer sings words, but just splutters against the paper, useless. Just like it’s owner.  
And so, he keeps it short, sweet, and honest. He spends ten minutes thinking of how to address it- to his (few) friends? “Dear Shane who’s overseas? Dear Ben who’s much too busy? Dear Darienne who’s busying fiddling with his latest boytoy?” But none of those sounded right. To his parents? “Dear mom who did her best and dad who wanted me dead?” but that didn’t sound right either. “To whom it may concern.” sounded to formal, and so finally he decided on a simple “hello.”  
He thinks about saying sorry, about apologizing for the pain he is about to put them through, for making them clean up HIS mess. But He ISN’T sorry, and this is the wrong time for him to lie, he thinks. He scribbles furiously, non-stop for ten minutes like he did during 3rd grade test to make his teachers think he was working. He sets down his pen, admires his handy work through tear filled eyes and deems it ready to go.  
Hello-  
If you are reading this, I’m dead. Not really an easier way to say that is there. Don’t feel bad because this is what I wanted. Don’t cry if you did nothing to stop any of this. And don’t come to my funeral saying “I wish I’d known him better” “He was so beautiful” “He was so young.” I don’t want your pity, and I don’t want your guilt, and I don’t want your lies. Just burry me in comfortable clothes, and lay me into the ground to rest for time. (And don’t give me any of that “rest in peace” bullshit either”).  
Here’s to hoping the afterlife is more like an after party.  
Xoxo,  
Danny  


He creeps down the stairs. The clock reads- 1:43, and he mentally curses himself, his mother should be home any minute, he’d have to be quick. He sneaks into the kitchen, pausing after he hears his father stirring in the living room. But once again all is silent, and he is free to move on. The cabinet creaks open and he curses himself for picking the loudest drawer. Carefully removing the bottle of vodka from the drawer, he sneaks back upstairs.  
Situating himself back up against his headboard, he slowly washes down three aspirin at a time, each one with another swig of vodka, each one with a thought that reminds him why he’s doing this in the first place.  
He finishes the bottle, and it’s nothing like he’d expected.  
It burns like hell.  
“Nobody will ever love you.” he whispers.  
His throats feels like it is on fire.  
“You’re ugly and fat.” he whispers.  
There are spots in his vision.  
“Nobody likes a faggot.” he whispers.  
He’s dizzy to the point of nausea.  
“You’re never good enough, not even for yourself.”  
Then the cramps start.  
He doesn’t know what’s fading- the voices or him.  
“You’ve wanted this since the beginning.”  
“You’re doing all of this for attention.”  
“You’re so stupid.”  
“You’re a horrible, horrible, human being.”  
“You’ve never been good at anything.”  
It feels like his stomach is trying to fold it small enough to fit through the crack in the door. Each new cramp feels like he’s tearing himself apart from the inside out.  
“You knew the cutting would lead to this, that’s why you did it, isn’t it?”  
“You haven’t eaten a full meal in days, you vomit up everything that you’re mother has given you, you ungrateful fuck.”  
The pain’s not ceasing, but Danny knows it’s the end. He doesn’t know how he knows. But he does.  
“You’re pathetic.”  
“You’re making yourself out to be the victim.” The voices whispered.  
“Help.” His head is screaming at him.  
But nobody came.


	2. Broken Ties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danny wakes up and answers WAY to many questions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! First off- thanks for reading the first chapter of horrible-ness, I wish I could say the second one was better. This chapter is very dialogue heavy, like 97% of the text is just dialogue so it might be kinda hard to get through, but I feel like it's pretty important to the plot so I would try.  
> This is now going to be 5 chapters instead of 4, because I started splitting up how I was going to do things.  
> This chapter posted sooner than the others (this one was posted less than a week after the first, don't expect that normally)  
> TW for attempted suicide, self harm, alcoholism, drug abuse, eating disorders (but in this chapter they're only talked about, not graphic like the last one).  
> Disclaimer- This is a work of fiction and does not represent the actual views or lives of any of the characters mentioned.

“Oh fuck.” Danny mutters to himself as he rolls over in bed. His stomach is killing him, sharp pains are rushing through it at an ever increasing rate and he feels like he’s going to vomit, but there’s nothing left inside of him. At all. His bodies in all kinds of pain- his wrist hurts, his throat hurts, his head hurts. Not even bothering to open his eyes quite yet, he lifts up his arms to stretch. As his arms are coming down, he hits something tough with his left arm. Finally cracking one eye open- he see’s a gray plastic gate-type thing on the edge of the bed.  
He starts to worry. This isn’t his bed. He has no idea what’s happened. His head is screaming at him to “run! Get up! Find out where you are!” But his body won’t allow it. It all hurts to much.  
Memories of the previous night begin to flood back to him. The abuse he endured. The cuts he created. The food he threw up. The Alcohol he drank. The note he wrote. The pills he took. And, for the second time in about five minutes, he thinks to himself “oh fuck.”  
He failed.  
He failed.  
He has no idea what to think or what to do. What’s going to happen after this? Where does he go from after this? How did anybody find him?  
Finally finding it in himself to sit up, he looks around, he’s in a hospital gown in a closed hospital room. From outside the door he can see the nurses station. One of them looks up and spots him (“convenient,” Danny thinks in his head). And hurries over with a notebook in one hand.  
She enters and closes the door behind him, attempting to smile. Danny doesn’t attempt to smile back.  
“I’m Courtney.” She tells him, sticking it out for him to shake it, he does, but he doesn’t say anything in response. Writing something down on the clipboard, she nods.  
“So, Mr. Noriega…” she starts.  
“Don’t.” Danny interrupted. Courtney looks shocked.  
“Excuse me?” There’s not malice in her voice, only confusion.  
“Call me Danny,” He trails off, before adding in a whisper, “please.” She nods again.  
“Okay, Danny.” She looks up at him, “May I ask you a couple of questions?”  
Danny nods- he knows there’s no other choice.  
“First question- Are you currently on any medication to treat anxiety or depression?” He nodded his head no. He watched her scribble something down on her clipboard.  
“Was this a plan, or spur of the moment?” Danny thinks for a second.  
“Both?” He answered quietly. He didn’t know why he was whispering. She responded well to his answer, and wrote it down on his clipboard along with everything else.  
She questioned him for thirty more minutes, stupid things. Things like “what did your note mean?” and “Are you being treated for your issues.” And finally, she stumped him.  
“What, along with an obvious mental illness, lead you to this decision.” To this, Danny had no answer. It was a lot of things. Based off her silence, she seemed to understand that it was too much.  
“Okay, okay- do you struggle with depression?” “Yes.”  
“For how long?” “Long enough.”  
“You took multiple pills the night of the attempt, is taking pills a normal thing for you? What about with alcohol?”  
“Pills and other drugs if I can get a hold of them, alcohol as long as it isn’t whiskey.”  
“Why can’t you drink whiskey?” She asked him gently, knowing that she might’ve found something important, but not wanting to scare him but rushing his answer.  
“Because it reminds me of my father.” Danny hated himself for saying anything. But to his surprise, she let it go right there, after making a long note of it on her clipboard.  
“As they were cutting away your clothes last night, they found scars on both your wrists and on your thighs. Is this the take away of a self destructive habit.” Danny’s embarrassed. But he nods yes regardless.  
“And are you on a regular eating schedule?” “No.”  
“How so?” She asks, kindness apparent in her voice.  
“I don’t really eat,” Danny whispers, looking up at her through his hair for approval to continue. She nods again. Danny was getting tired of seeing all these nods that mean nothing, “And when I do I throw it up, a large majority of the time,”  
She nods again. Danny feels like screaming. She stands up.  
“Okay hun,” Danny hates when people call him pet names, “I’m going to let you know how this is going to go down, alright?” She sounds less like a nurse and more like a disappointed mother.  
“Alright.”  
“You’re going to stay in here until the day after tomorrow, unless it takes longer for us to level off your health, and then we are going to move you to a suicide room.” Danny had no idea what the fuck a suicide room is.  
“I’ll bring you medication and food in the morning, and in the evening, you’ll be visited by your night nurse Darienne, Dr. Dela-Creme will come in at about two to discuss treatment options with you, alright?” He nodded and she shot him a sympathetic smile.  
“Take care of yourself.” She told him as she closed the door with a light thud.  
“But I can’t.” Danny whispered. But he knew she couldn’t hear him.  
He didn’t know what to do. So he did nothing. He just sat there and… stared and thought.  
Two O’clock took both an eternity and a second to come. The doctor knocked on the door and opened it before they had heard an answer.  
The doctor was… delightful? Tall with short black hair and a smile.  
“Hello, Danny.” Danny nodded in response.  
“Sorry your mother couldn’t be with us, she wanted too… but said it was crucial she worked, especially since she has hospital bills to pay.” Danny felt a pang of guilt deep in his stomach. “Do you want to discuss options?” Danny nodded yes.  
“Okay- so you know what going to happen for sure, you’ll be here for awhile, and soon we’ll move you to a suicide room, do you know what a suicide room is.” “No.” He whispered.  
“It’s almost like confinement- but not in a bad way, you’ll simply be isolated, with a guard watching you at all times, it’s just to make sure we know that you’re no longer suicidal and won’t be a harm to yourself or others- It’s not as bad as it sounds, I promise.” It sounded pretty bad. Danny nods along to prove that he’s really listening.  
“That’s where you have some options- You can either a) stay here in the hospital and get as much help as we can give you for about a month or two, and then we will discharge you and you’ll be required to go down to therapy three to five times a week until you are deemed safe.” Danny nodded, hoping option two was a bit faster. “Or b) you can go from here, to a rehab center and stay there for a few months after we discharge you. We would discharge you directly after the suicide room stint.” Danny nods, “Which one will be cheaper?” The doctor pondered his question.  
“I think it’s more important that you decided based off what will help you more as opposed to what’s cheaper.” The doctor finally answered but then, he answered: “But the first one is probably cheaper.”  
“I’ll do that one.” Danny answered automatically.  
“Well, not so fast kid, you’re still a minor, and your mom and dad have to approve your treatment option plan. When we asked your mom last night, she told us to ‘pick whichever is going to help him the most.’”  
“And?” Danny urged him on.  
“And as of right now, based solely off of how you answered Nurse Act’s questions, I think it’s best if you consider the section option. But I won’t know for sure until you’ve had a full watch by the psychologist.” Danny sighed, not happy, but nodded. He seemed to be doing a lot of that today.  
Danny sighed. He didn’t want this anymore.

Bonny Noriega’s POV-  
I came from work dead tired. I dropped my work bag next to shoe rack in my entrance hall and undid my pumps. Stepping out of my shoes, I went off to go find food.  
I was shocked to find dinner on the table, just as I’d left it. Two empty plates on the table. Usually my husband would drink himself into some sort of oblivion and I would find Danny in the kitchen, washing up the dishes and putting away leftovers. But today, I found the kitchen dark.  
You might call it crazy, but I call it mother’s intuition. I knew something was wrong. Opening a one of our top shelves looking for a plate I notice that the bottle of vodka I have has been taking of the shelves. Forgetting my hunger, I snuck into the living room. It wasn’t my husband- the only that surrounded him was four beer bottles and a ⅔’s empty bottle of whiskey. It had to be Danny.  
I tried to calmly walk up the stairs until I got to Danny’s room.  
I knocked once.  
No answer.  
I knocked again.  
It’s still silent on the other side of the door.  
Knock. Knock.  
Silence.  
I let myself in and what greeted my eyes is something that I never think I’ll ever be able to unsee. Danny was slouched up against the side of his bed, vodka bottle still slightly full, but tipped over, and spilled all over his thighs, torso, and carpet. A (now empty) orange pill but laid knocked over beside him but no pills surrounded it.  
Danny himself was covered in his own vomit, and his face was like a ghost. I ran over to check his vitals. He had a pulse. But it was light, and I had to really focus before I could find it. He was breathing, but his breaths were shallow and few and far between.  
It felt like I was having an outer body experience when I noticed the note lying behind him. I couldn't bring myself to read it.  
“Hello? 911?” I whispered into the phone.  
“Yes,” I kept responding, “yes that is our address, please, send an ambulance quick.”  
The second I uttered the word “suicide?” It didn’t take long before my house was swarmed. Two large men came in with a stretcher and pulled my son out. I was in shock. There was no other way to respond.  
They told me where I could meet them at the hospital, and once they had left, I sat it Danny’s room for a couple of minutes and I cried out.  
“I’m so sorry, Danny, I’m so sorry, I never meant to let you down.” I whispered. I wished it was all fake. That he was here and okay. I called out for him. But he never came.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!! Maybe leave a kudos or a comment if you enjoyed?  
> (Also yes this is on the artificalqueens.tumblr.com page- they are both written by the same person don't worry).  
> xoxox  
> -C


	3. Bruised (Thighs)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introduction to Roy, Danny is moved from the hospital to Charles Rehabilitation Center.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, two chapters in one day? Yeah. I hope you enjoy!

Danny knew that the suicide room was going to be horrible. He knew it. As he sat against one of cold walls of his cell- no, sorry, his “confinement room” he pondered what was going to happen after this. 

His mom had decided (with the doctor’s help and approval) that it would be safest if Danny spent some time in a rehab facility with “people struggling like him” and “doctors who were trained to help specifically with this” and “a close watch on your behavior.” He didn’t want that at all, but his mother had wanted it, and at this point, he figured it was the most he could do to repay her for all he’d recently put her through. His mind begins to wander to the meeting he’d had with his mother.  
He sat at a table in the doctor’s office, in his own clothes for the first time he’d arrived at the hospital, he had half of a meal replacement smoothie in front of him, because even though “getting enough nutrients is the first step in stopping disordered eating” he didn’t really want to stop. Just as he was about to slump down further in his chair- he heard the door open behind him. 

He didn’t know if he was scared or excited to see his mom, he had disappointed her after all, but there were was no one that he missed more. He jumped out of the chair to go see her and immediately got wrapped in a hug.

“I’m so sorry, Danny.” Bonnie whispered under her breath. Danny didn’t understand why SHE was apologizing when it was all his fault anyways.   
“It’s okay.” He whispered back, voice thick with tears. The doctor barely allowed enough time for them to have their “moment” before he coughed slightly from the desk he was sitting at- bringing both of their attentions back to him. 

Danny didn’t want to let go, didn’t want to stop this whole “mommy will kiss you all better” run he’d had going. He couldn’t remember the last time his mom hugged him like this.   
Sitting down in his chair again he found it hard to look anywhere other than his shoes. He would place his input on conversation every now and then, giving them a “okay” or “rather not” or “either way” but never giving them more than two or three works. He listened to these two people- one a stranger and one a mother- decide his future, and although he wasn’t happy, he decided to go with it anyway, for the sake of his family. 

Almost immediately after he parted from his mother, He was sent to a suicide room. If he had anything to be grateful for, it was that they let him stay in his own clothes as a two nurses escorted him to the room, with a security guard trailing behind them. 

“As if I’m going to run off” he scoffed in his head, he was much too busy examining his shoes as he walked and making sure he didn’t trip and embarrass himself more than he already had.   
The suicide room was truly one of the worst experiences of his entire life. A guard was watching him at all times, only turning around when Danny attempted to shower or use the toilet. The worst part? The guard said few words to him. Three times a day he’d slide food into the “room” and twice a day he’s send in pills (Danny doesn’t even remember what they’re for at this point, but for about 2 hours after they give him a feeling that can only be compared to being high on unknown drugs, and so he doesn’t really complain). Danny kept trying to take to the guard, because he was just so fucking lonely. 

“Are you married?” He tried on day one. He got a nod, but the guard didn’t seem to care at all. When the guard started to almost fall asleep before the switching of his guards at midnight, Danny found himself searching desperately to get out- and to maybe get a hold of that guard's gun? Maybe? He didn’t really know why he wanted to get out, it’s not like he had anything to live for outside that building. 

His night guard was a thick woman with long bushy blonde hair, he looked as though she couldn’t of cared less about being there.  
“What age, David?” She whispered as they switched spots.

“Young, Delta,” He whispered back to her, “Only sixteen according to his record.” Delta sighed. Mind flashing back to when she had seen her best in the very same place. Once the two guards had settled, Danny finally allowed himself to drift off into a nightmare filled sleep. 

Day two was shorter than day one. About half way through the day, as Danny was aimlessly pushing pieces of lettuce around on a paper plate, another man entered. This man leaned into his guard and whispered something. The guard nodded, glancing swiftly at Danny before turning back to the other person. 

Finally, the newer man looked at Danny. 

“Come with me kid,” He said, hold his hand out to Danny. He took it reluctantly, but still didn’t know why. The confusion must’ve of read on his face, because the second man said “I’m taking you to your next rehabilitation center.” Danny’s face fell, realizing that his future in a makeshift mental institution was, in fact, very real. Sensing the emotions of Danny, the first guard spoke his first real sentence to him. “It’s gonna be, kid.” The words were spoken like a tired uncle at Christmas, but the emotion behind them was real. Danny sighed and nodded, before allowing the other man to lead him out into the suicide room and into a bus waiting outside the hospital. 

POV switch. 

Roy sighed as he got out of his car and headed up to the worker’s only entrance of Charles Treatment Center. It wasn’t that he didn’t love his job- he just hadn’t found “that” patient, the one that made him fall in love with his work all over again. Entering the building He threw his bag over his shoulder and calmly walked over the the check in- smiling at Me. Firkus, who’d started volunteering at the treatment facility while he wife, Katya, had been treating her alcoholism. 

“Ready for another day of saving lives?” Mr. Firkus laughed as Roy signed his name on the mostly blank sheet of paper. He laughed as well.

“Of course, Brian, How’s Katya doing?” He inquired.

“She’s doing good! She’s thinking about coming to work in the mental health field, actually.” Roy smiled again.

“She really should seriously consider it, she’s so friendly I’m sure the patients would just LOVE her.” Brian nodded along enthusiastically as Roy spoke. 

“Excuse me, Dr. Haylock?” A quiet voice enquired from behind Roy, he turned around to see Nurse Chachki standing with a clipboard in one hand.

“Yes, Violet?” He responded.

“We have a new patient who’s expected to arrive about three thirty, Dr. Dela-Creme is here to discuss the case with us.” Roy nodded, part of him excited, part of him terrified for what was about to come. Even though he loved helping people, he always scared him to hear what a new person might be going through. Following Violet through the twist and the turns of the hospital, he found himself inside his office, a familiar face- Dr. Dela-Creme stood up to shake his hand before Roy at down across from him and his assistant.   
Seeming to understand that it was just time to start, Dr. Dela-Creme looked at Dr. Haylock with sad eyes, knowing that this kid had one of the most tragic stories either of them would ever hear.

“His name is Danny.” He started off, watching Violet scribble his words down on a piece of paper. He sighed, here came the worse part. 

“He’s sixteen years old.” Roy felt his breath catch in his throat, it was rare that they came to him that young. 

“We’re not sure what the main problem is,” Dr. Dela-Creme finished after giving both Violet and Roy a chance to swallow his last piece of information.

“He came to us late, about two am on the morning of November 20th, mom crying and clutching a note, so I can’t tell you much more than the fact that it’s clearly a suicide attempt, we had to pump his stomach, but didn’t find much more than pills and vodka. As they were cutting away his clothes they found obvious self harm scars on multiple places on his body as well.” Violet continued to scribble down what the Doctor said, hand shaking as she detailed the horrible history of this poor, poor, kid.   
“He’s admitting to at least some form of eating disorder, and I wouldn’t doubt any sort of abuse by his father, but I’m not sure, he hasn’t really said much.” Roy sighed, he had dealt with people who were bad, and he had dealt with kids, but never had they been this intertwined before as they were now. He nodded. 

“How could he have been through this much?” Violet asked from next to Dr. Dela-Creme, sometimes Roy forgot that she was still just a trainee, “I mean, he’s just a kid.” She whispered. Roy wished he’d answer. He didn’t know how one kid so young couldn’t gone through so much. But he knew one thing.   
He wanted to save Danny Noriega.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Don't forget that this fic is also on artificialqueens.tumblr.com (and it updates much faster there) so don't worry if you see it.   
> Please leave and kudos or a comment if you enjoyed  
> xoxo,  
> -C  
> artificialpanic.tumblr.com

**Author's Note:**

> Whelp, I hope you enjoyed that shit show please don't forget to leave a comment or soemthing please I beg.  
> This is my first work in this fandom, and so I'd like to introduce myself as a person and as a writer.  
> My name is CeCe, I'm 15 and I'm asexual. I love drag race. My fave queen of all time is Raja, but I can't decided who I ship her with the most, so I won't write a lot of her.  
> I will mostly write pearlet, biadore and trixya probs.  
> I LOVE writing sad things, because stress relief.  
> If you ever want to co-write something, I'm totally down, but I am a totally horrible procrastinator, but I would love it I would.  
> I love dying and being dead.  
> I'm a feminist  
> And I love writing poetry.  
> And that's about it, I hope you enjoy this, and read some of my other things eventually (which will most likely be better edited than this)  
> xoxo  
> -C


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